The Burglar's Blunder
"That's done the trick! Now for the swag!"
As Mr. Bennett made this observation to himself he slipped the windowup and stepped into the room. He stood for a moment listening. Within,all was still; without, not a sound disturbed the silence of thenight.
"I think it's all serene."
It is probable that Mr. Bennett smiled. He was engaged in the exerciseof his profession, and it consoled him to perceive that, on thisoccasion, the stars seemed to be fighting on his side. He drew downthe window softly and replaced the blind. It was a principle of hisnever to leave anything which might give a hint to the outside publicof what was going on within. The room, with the blind down, wasintensely dark. He put his hand into his pocket and drew out a littleshaded lantern. Cautiously removing the shutter about half an inch apencil of light gleamed across the room. He was apparently contentwith this illumination. By its aid he carefully examined floor, walls,and ceiling.
"Early English. I thought so."
This remark referred to the upholstering of the room, which was in theEarly English style. Stooping down he drew a pair of list slippersover his indiarubber shoes. With swift, cat-like steps he strodeacross the floor and left the room. He was evidently familiar with hisground. The burglar's profession, to be profitably practised, entailsno inconsiderable labour. It is quite an error to suppose that theburglar has only to stroll along the street and break into the firsthouse which catches his eye. Not at all. Such a course is altogetherunprofessional. Persons who do that kind of thing get what theydeserve--"stir," and plenty of it. A really professional man, anartist--such, for example, as Mr. Bennett--works on entirely differentlines. He had had this little job in his mind's eye for the last threemonths. Acacia Villa presented an almost ideal illustration of _the_promising crib to crack. Did he rush at it on that account? Quite theother way. He prepared his ground. He discovered, what all theworld--in that neighbourhood--knew already, that it was occupied by asingle lady and a solitary maid. That fact alone would have inducedsome men to make a dash at it before unscrupulous competitors had hadan opportunity to take the bread out of their mouths. But Mr. Bennettwas made of other stuff.
It was situated in a lonely suburb, and in a lonely portion of thelonely suburb. It stood in its own grounds. There was not a dog aboutthe place. There was not a shutter to a window. There was no basementto the house--you had only to step from the ground to the window-sill,and from the window-sill into the house. These facts would have beenso many extra inducements to the average burglar to "put up" the placeat once.
But Mr. Bennett looked at the matter from a different standpoint. Hedid not ask if he could crack the crib--he had never yet encounteredone which had mastered him--but whether the crib was really worth thecracking. The very defencelessness of the place was against it--in hiseyes, at any rate--at first. People who have anything very well worthstealing do not, as a rule, leave it at the mercy of the firstindividual who passes by--though there are exceptions to the rule. Mr.Bennett discovered that there was one, and the discovery revealed the_artist_ in the man.
The occupant of Acacia Villa was a Miss Cecilia Jones. Mr. Bennett hadnever seen Miss Cecilia Jones. Nobody--or hardly anybody--ever had.There appeared to be a mystery about Miss Cecilia Jones. But Mr.Bennett had seen the maid, and not only seen her, but promised tomarry her as well. This was a promise which he never made to any womanunless actually compelled: the present had been a case of actualcompulsion.
The maid's name was Hannah--Miss Hannah Welsh. She was not young, andshe was not good-looking. Mr. Bennett was partial to both youth andbeauty. It went against the grain to court Miss Welsh. But he foundthat courtship was an absolutely indispensable preliminary. After hehad encircled her waist a few times with his arm, and tasted thenectar of her lips--also a few times--Miss Welsh began gradually tounbend. But the process was very gradual. She was the most reticent ofmaids. He had not only to present her with several presents--theproceeds of the exercise of his profession--he had not only to promiseto marry her, he had not only to name the day, but he had even tobuy--or steal: the words were synonymous with him--the wedding-ring,before all the tale was told. When he had actually tried the ring onMiss Welsh's finger--to see if it would fit--then, and only then, heheard all there was to hear.
Miss Jones was queer--not mad exactly, but peculiar. She hadquarrelled with all her relatives. She was rich. She was full ofcrotchets. She distrusted all the world, particularly bankers. To sucha length had she carried her want of confidence that she had realisedall her fortune, turned it into specie, and kept it in the house. Itwas at this point that Miss Welsh's conversation became interesting toMr. Bennett.
"Keeps it in the house, does she? In notes, I suppose?"
"Then you suppose wrong. She won't have nothing to do withnotes--trust her. It's all in gold and diamonds."
"Diamonds! How do you know they're diamonds?"
Miss Welsh glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. Theconversation was carried on in the back garden at Acacia Villa, whichwas extensive and secluded. The time was evening, that season which ispopularly supposed to be conducive to sentimental intercourse.
"Perhaps I know as much about diamonds as here and there a few."
Her tone was peculiar, almost suggestive. For an instant Mr. Bennettmeditated making a clean breast of it, and asking Miss Welsh to comein on sharing terms. But he had an incurable objection tocollaboration. Besides, in this case sharing terms would probably meanthat he would have to go through the form, at any rate, of making herhis wife.
"Where does she keep them? In a safe, I hope."
He did not hope so, though he said he did. At the very best, a safe,to a professional man, means the wasting of valuable time.
"She keeps them in her bedroom, in the chest of drawers, in a redleather box, in the little top drawer on the left-hand side."
Mr. Bennett felt a glow steal all over him. He began to conceive quitea respect for Miss Cecilia Jones.
"And the gold--where does she keep that?"
"In tin boxes. There are ten of them. There are a thousand sovereignsin each. There are five boxes on each side of the chest of drawers."Mr. Bennett possessed considerable presence of mind, but he almostlost it then. Ten thousand pounds in sovereigns! He would never regretthe affection he had lavished on Miss Welsh--never, to his dying day._Would_ it be a bad speculation to marry her? But no; the thought wasrash. He would reward her, but in quite a different way. He made arapid calculation. Ten thousand sovereigns would weigh, roughly, about130 pounds avoirdupois. He might turn them into a sack--fancy, asackful of money! But 130 pounds was no light weight to carry far. Hemust have a vehicle at hand. What a convenience a "pal" would be! Buthe had worked single-handed so far, and he would work single-handed tothe end.
When he had ascertained his facts he acted on them at once, thusrevealing the artist again. Spare no pains in making sure that thecrib is worth the cracking, _then_ crack it at once. On the nightfollowing this conversation the crib was cracked: he had arranged forthe marriage to take place on the next day but one--or Miss Welshthought he had--so that if he wished to avoid a scandal he really hadno time to lose. We have seen him enter the house. Now we understandhow it was he knew his ground.
He paused for an instant outside the drawing-room door: it was throughthe drawing-room window he had effected an entrance. All was still. Hemoved up the staircase two steps at a time. There was not a stair thatcreaked. At the top he paused again. From information received, toadopt a phrase popular in an antagonistic profession, he was awarethat Miss Jones slept in the front bedroom.
"There's three bedrooms on the first floor. When you gets to the topof the stairs you turns to the left, and if you goes straight on youwalks right into Miss Jones's room."
Mr. Bennett turned to the left. He went straight on. Outside MissJones's door he paused again. The critical moment had arrived. He feltthat all his properties were in order--a bottle and a sp
onge in hisright-hand pocket, a revolver in his left, a stout canvas bag fastenedround his body beneath his coat. The lantern was shut. He opened itsufficiently to enable him to see what sort of handle there was on thedoor. Having satisfied himself on that point he closed it again.
Then he proceeded to effect an entrance into Miss Jones's bedroom.
He took the handle firmly in his hand. It turned without the slightestsound. The door yielded at once.
"Not locked," said Mr. Bennett beneath his breath. "What a stroke ofluck!"
Noiselessly the door moved on its hinges. He opened it just wideenough to enable him to slip inside. When he was in he released thehandle. Instantly the door moved back and closed itself without asound.
"Got a spring upon the door," Mr. Bennett told himself--always beneathhis breath. "Uncommonly well oiled they must keep it too."
The room was pitchy dark. He listened acutely. All was still as thegrave. He strained his ears to catch Miss Jones's breathing.
"A light sleeper!"
A very light sleeper. Strain his ears as he might he could not catchthe slightest sound. Mr. Bennett hesitated. As an artist he was averseto violence. In cases of necessity he was quite equal to the occasion,but in cases where it was not necessary he preferred the gentler way.And where a woman was in question, under hardly any provocation wouldhe wish to cut her throat. He had chloroform in his pocket. If MissJones was disagreeable he could make his peace with that. But if sheleft him unmolested should he stupefy her still? He decided that whileshe continued to sleep she should be allowed to sleep, only it wouldbe well for her not to wake up too soon.
He moved across the room. Instinctively, even in the thick darkness,he knew the position of the chest of drawers. He reached it. Hequickly discovered the little top drawer on the left-hand side.
In a remarkably short space of time he had it open. Then he began tosearch for the red leather box. He gleamed the lantern into the drawerso that its light might assist his search.
While he was still engaged in the work of discovery, suddenly the roomwas all ablaze with light.
"Thank you. I thought it was you."
A voice, quite a musical voice, spoke these words behind his back. Mr.Bennett was, not unnaturally, amazed. The sudden blaze of lightdazzled his eyes. He turned to see who the speaker was.
"Don't move, or I fire. You will find I am a first-rate shot."
He stared. Indeed, he had cause to stare. A young lady--a distinctlypretty young lady--was sitting up in bed holding a revolver in herhand, which she was pointing straight at him.
"This room is lighted by electricity. I have only to press a button,it all goes out." And, in fact, it all went out; again the room wasdark as pitch. "Another, it is alight again." As it was--and that withthe rapidity of a flash of lightning.
Mr. Bennett stood motionless. For the first time in his professionalcareer he was at a loss, not only as to what he ought to say, but asto what he ought to do. The young lady was so pretty. She had long,fair hair, which ranged loose upon her shoulders; a pair of great bigeyes, which had a very curious effect on Mr. Bennett as they looked athim; a sweet mouth; through her rosy lips gleamed little pearl-liketeeth; and a very pretty--and equally determined--nose and chin. Shehad on the orthodox nightdress, which, in her case, was a gorgeouspiece of feminine millinery, laced all down the front with thedaintiest pink bows. Mr. Bennett had never seen such a picture in hislife.
"I am Miss Cecilia Jones. You are Mr. Bennett, I presume--GeorgeBennett--'My George,' as Hannah says. Hannah is a hypnotic subject.When I am experimenting on her the poor dear creature tells meeverything, you know. I wonder if I could hypnotise you."
Mr. Bennett did not know what she meant. He was only conscious of themost singular sensation he had ever experienced. To assist hisunderstanding, possibly, Miss Jones gave a practical demonstration ofher meaning. With her disengaged hand she made some slight movementsin the air, keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Bennett all the while. Mr.Bennett in vain struggled to escape her gaze. Suddenly he wasconscious that, as it were, something had gone from him--hisresolution--his freedom of will--he knew not what.
Miss Jones put down her hand.
"I think that you will do. How do you feel?"
"Very queer."
Mr. Bennett's utterance was peculiar. He spoke as a manmight speak who is under the influence of a drug, or as one whodreams--unconsciously, without intention, as it were.
"Oh, they always do feel like that at first. Are you considered a goodburglar as a rule?"
"As a rule."
Mr. Bennett hesitatingly put up his hand and drew it across his brow.It was the hand which held the lantern. When the lantern touched hisskin he found that it was hot. He let it fall from his hand with aclatter to the floor. Miss Jones eyed him keenly all the time.
"I see you are not quite subjective yet, but I think that you will do.And of course I can always complete the influence if I will. It onlyillustrates what I have continually said--that it is not necessarilythe lowest mental organisations that traffic in crime. I should saythat yours was above rather than below the average. Have you yourselfany ideas upon that point?"
As he answered Mr. Bennett faintly sighed.
"None!"
Miss Jones smiled, and as she smiled he smiled too, though there wasthis feature about Mr. Bennett's smile--there was not in it any senseof mirth. Miss Jones seemed to notice this, for she smiled still more.Immediately Mr. Bennett's smile expanded into a hideous grin. Then sheburst into laughter. Mr. Bennett laughed out too.
"After all, you are more subjective than I thought you were. I don'tthink I ever had a subject laugh quite so sympathetically before."
As Miss Jones said this--which she did when she had done laughing--sheturned and adjusted the pillows so as to form a support to her back.Against this she reclined at ease. She placed the revolver on thebolster at her side. From a receptacle in the nature of a tidy, whichwas fastened to the wall above her head, she drew a small leathercase. From this she took a cigarette and a match. With the mostcharming air imaginable she proceeded to light the cigarette andsmoke.
Mr. Bennett watched all her movements, feeling that he must be playinga part in a dream. It was a perceptible relief when she removed hereyes from his face, though they were such pretty eyes. Yet, althoughshe was not looking at him, he felt that she saw him all the time--hehad a hideous impression that she even saw what was passing in hismind.
"I wouldn't think about my revolver. You won't be able to fire it, youknow."
He had been thinking about his revolver: a faint notion had beengrowing up in his mind that he would like to have just one shot ather. Miss Jones made this remark in the most tranquil tone of voice,as she was engaged in extinguishing the match with which she hadlighted her cigarette.
"And I wouldn't worry about that chloroform--it is chloroform, isn'tit?--in the right-hand pocket of your coat."
As she said this Miss Jones threw the extinguished match from heron to the bedroom floor. A great cloud of horror was settling down onMr. Bennett's brain. Was this fair creature a thing of earth atall? Was she a witch or a fairy queen? Mr. Bennett was a tolerablywell-educated man, and he had read of fairy queens. He gave a suddenstart. Miss Jones had lighted the cigarette to her satisfaction, andhad fixed her eyes upon his face again.
"I suppose you were hardly prepared for this sort of thing?"
"Hardly."
The word came from Mr. Bennett's stammering lips.
"When you heard about the defencelessness of Acacia Villa, and aboutMiss Jones--who was peculiar--and that sort of thing, you doubtlesstook it for granted that it was to be all plain sailing?"
"Something of the kind."
Not the least odd part of the affair was that Mr. Bennett foundhimself answering Miss Jones without the least intention of doinganything of the sort.
"Those diamonds you were looking for are at the bottom of thedrawer--at the back. Just get them out and bring them here. In a redleather case-
-you know."
Mechanically Mr. Bennett did as he was told. When his back was turnedto the lady, and he ceased to be compelled to meet her eyes, quite aspasm of relief went over him. A faint desire was again born withinhis breast to assert his manhood. The lady's quiet voice immediatelyinterposed.
"I wouldn't worry myself with such thoughts if I were you. You arequite subjective."
He was subjective, though still Mr. Bennett had not the faintestnotion what she meant. He found the red leather box. He brought it toher on the bed. He came so close to her that she puffed the smokebetween her rosy lips up into his face.
"It is not locked. It opens with a spring, like this."
She stretched out her hand. As she did so she grazed slightly one ofhis. He trembled at her touch. She pressed some hidden spring in thebox and the lid flew open. It was full of diamonds, which gleamed andsparkled like liquid light.
"Not bad stones, are they? There's a hundred thousand pounds' worth atthe least. There are the tin boxes, you see. Five on either side thechest of drawers." Mr. Bennett followed the direction of Miss Jones'shand--he saw them plainly enough. "A hundred thousand pounds' worth ofdiamonds in your hand, ten thousand pounds in front of you--not badplunder for a single night's work. And only a young woman to reckonwith--it is not twelve months since I turned twenty-one. Yet I don'tthink you will get much out of this little job--do you?"
The tears actually stood in Mr. Bennett's eyes.
"I don't think I shall," he moaned.
"And yet there is no magic about it--not the least. It is simply anillustration of the latest phase in scientific development." MissJones leaned back against the pillows, enjoying her cigarette with theetherealised satisfaction of the true lover of the weed. With her lefthand--what a little white and dainty hand it was!--she toyed with herlong, fair hair. "At an extremely early age I discovered that I couldexercise at will remarkable powers over my fellow-creatures. I lost noopportunity to develop those powers. At twenty-one I became my ownmistress. I realised my fortune--as Hannah told you--and retired toAcacia Villa. You understand I had ideas of my own. I was peculiar, ifyou choose to have it so. I continued to develop my powers. Iexperimented upon Hannah. Now I am experimenting upon you. I amenjoying this experiment very much indeed. I hope you are enjoying ita quarter as much as I am--are you?" Some slightly inarticulate remarkdropped from Mr. Bennett, which was apparently to the effect that hewas not.
"I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you will enjoy it more a littlelater on. Now, what shall I do with you? I know."
Miss Jones pressed a little ivory button, which was one of a row setin a frame of wood against the wall.
"That rings an electric bell in Hannah's room. I often ring her downin the middle of the night to be experimented on. She comes directly.Here she is, you see."
There was a slight tapping against the bedroom door.
"Come in!" exclaimed Miss Jones.
The door opened and Miss Welsh came in. She was not exactly in fulldress. Mr. Bennett, who through it all was conscious in a horrid,nightmare sort of way, thought that he had never seen anyone look soextremely unprepossessing as Miss Welsh looked in disarray. Theinstant she was inside the room Miss Jones raised her hand. Miss Welshstood still. Miss Jones turned to Mr. Bennett.
"I have her entirely under control. Some of the results I haveobtained with her are really quite remarkable. But you shall see foryourself and judge." The young lady addressed Miss Welsh.
"Well, Hannah, here is Mr. Bennett, you see."
It was evident that Miss Welsh did see. She seemed struggling to giveexpression to her feelings in speech. Miss Jones went calmly on--
"He is here on business--he is committing burglary, in fact. You wereright in supposing that was his profession. The mistake you made wasin imagining that he would have shared the spoil with you. I think,Mr. Bennett, I am right in saying that you would not have given Hannahmuch?"
"Not a sou."
"Probably you did not even intend to marry her?"
"I would have seen her hung first."
Mr. Bennett made this plain statement with quite curious ferocity.Miss Welsh rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of what we will suppose,for courtesy's sake, was her nightdress.
"That makes nine of 'em," she said.
"That makes nine of them, as Hannah says. Hannah, Mr. Bennett, is awoman of experience. She has had nine promises of marriage, but notone of them came off. But I don't think, Hannah, that you ever had apromise from a burglar before?"
"Never before."
"Then, at least, that is a new experience, and a new experience is soprecious. Is there any remark you would like to make, Hannah,appropriate to the occasion?"
For a moment it did not appear as though there were. Then it seemedthat there at least was one.
"I should like to scratch his eyes out," observed the damsel--aetatforty-five or so.
Miss Cecilia smiled. Mr. Bennett immediately smiled too. But there wasthis difference--that while the lady's smile was a thing of beauty,the gentleman's was a peculiar ghastly grin.
Miss Jones remarked Mr. Bennett's facial contortions with anappearance of considerable interest.
"I never had them smile _quite_ so sympathetically before. In thatrespect, Mr. Bennett, you are unique. Charmed to have met you, I amsure." The young lady knocked the ash off her cigarette with herdainty finger and turned her attention to Miss Welsh. "I don't think,Hannah, that we will have any scratching out of eyes."
When she had thus delivered herself Miss Jones reclined in silence forsome moments on her pillows, discharging the smoke of her cigarettethrough her delicate pink nostrils. When she spoke again it was to thegentleman she addressed herself.
"Mr. Bennett, would you mind closing that box of diamonds andreplacing them in the drawer?"
Mr. Bennett shut the box with a little snap and carried it across theroom. There was something odd about his demeanour as he did this--anappearance as though he were not engaged in the sort of labour whichphysics pain. Miss Welsh, standing as though rooted to the ground,followed him with her eyes. The expression of her countenance was oneof undisguised amazement. Her face was eloquent with a yearning torelieve herself with words. When Mr. Bennett put the box back where hehad found it and shut the drawer she gave a kind of gasp. From Mr.Bennett there came a distinctly audible groan. "Turn round, Mr.Bennett, and look at me." Mr. Bennett did as he was bidden. He was notaltogether a bad-looking young man--his chief fault, from thephysiognomist's point of view, lay in the steely tint of his clearblue eyes. Miss Jones's great big orbs seemed to rest upon him with acertain degree of pleasure. "I need scarcely point out to you that theburglary is a failure. The principal cause of failure is that you aretoo subjective. You have quite one of the most subjectiveorganisations I have yet encountered. The ideal criminal must keephimself abreast with the advance of science. In failing to do so, Mr.Bennett, you have been guilty of a blunder which, in your case, iscertainly worse than crime. You are a dreadful example of theburglar's blunder. I might label you, preserve you in your hypnoticstate, and use you as an illustration of a lecture I am now preparing.But I have other views, and it is not impossible I may encounter youagain. Go to my writing-table. You will find a sheet of foolscappaper. Write what I dictate."
Mr. Bennett went to the writing-table. He found the sheet of foolscappaper. "Write, in good, bold characters:--
"_I am George Bennett_, _The Burglar_. _For further particulars apply at Acacia Villa_."
Mr. Bennett wrote as she dictated, displaying the above legend in astriking round hand right across the sheet of paper. Miss Jonesaddressed Miss Welsh:
"Hannah, in my workbasket you will find a needle and some good stoutthread. Get it out." Miss Welsh got it out. "Mr. Bennett, take offthat sack which you have wound round your body beneath your coat." Mr.Bennett took it off. "Button up your coat again." Mr. Bennett buttonedit up. "Hannah, take that sheet of foolscap paper, on which Mr.Benne
tt has written at my dictation, and sew it firmly to the front ofhis buttoned-up coat."
Miss Welsh took the sheet of foolscap paper. She approached Mr.Bennett, holding it in her hand. Mr. Bennett's hands dropped to hissides. He regarded her with a look which was the reverse of amiable.She eyed him with what were doubtless intended to be soft, pleadingglances. When she reached him she placed her hand timidly against hischest. Mr. Bennett looked particularly glum. She raised the other handwhich held the sheet of foolscap paper and spread it out upon hisbreast. It was legible at quite a considerable distance:
"_I am George Bennett_, _The Burglar_. _For further particulars apply at Acacia Villa_."
It was hardly the sort of inscription a chivalrous spirit would wishto have displayed upon his breast by the object of his heart's desire,or even by the woman he had promised to marry in the course of thefollowing morning. Miss Welsh, who seemed to feel the truth of this,looked at him with sad, beseeching eyes. But Mr. Bennett's glumnessperceptibly increased. Then Miss Welsh proceeded to sew theinscription on. It must be owned that it was a conscientious piece ofsewing. She first tacked it round the edges, then she sewed it up anddown and across, from corner to corner, with a hundred carefulstitches, in such a way that he would have had to tear it tofragments, piecemeal, in order to get it off. It would have been quiteimpossible to unbutton his coat while he had that inscription on. Theprocess seemed to make Miss Welsh extremely sad. It made Mr. Bennettsadder still. When she had finished her conscientious piece of workshe crossed her hands meekly in front of her and looked up at him witha rapturous gaze. Mr. Bennett did not seem to feel rapturous at all.
"Now, Hannah, take the sack which Mr. Bennett wore beneath his coatand hold it open for him, and enable him to step inside."
The sack was lying on the floor. Miss Welsh, with a half-uttered sigh,picked it up, and held the mouth wide open. Mr. Bennett scowled firstat the lady, then at the bag. He raised his left foot gingerly, andplaced it in the opening. Miss Welsh assisted him in thrusting his legwell home. Then there was a pause.
"Perhaps, Mr. Bennett, you had better put you arms round Hannah'sneck," observed Miss Jones.
She was engaged in lighting a second cigarette at the ashes of thefirst.
Mr. Bennett put his arms about Miss Welsh's neck and thrust his otherleg into the sack.
"Draw it up about his waist," remarked Miss Jones. By now the secondcigarette was well alight.
Miss Welsh drew it up about his waist. It was a good-sized sack, sothat, although a man of at least the average height, being drawn up itreached his loins.
"Mr. Bennett, hold the sack in that position with both your hands."Mr. Bennett held the sack in that position with both his hands."Hannah, in the bottom of the hanging cupboard you will find somecord. Get it out."
In a mechanically melancholy way Miss Welsh did as she was told. Thecord, being produced, took the shape of a coil of rope, about thethickness of one's middle finger.
"Make two holes in the front of the sack and pass the cord throughthem." With the same sad air Miss Welsh acted on Miss Jones's freshinstructions. She made two holes in the front of the sack and passedthe two ends of the cord through them.
"Now pass the cord over his shoulders, make two holes in the back ofthe sack, pass the cord through them, then draw it tight."
Again Miss Welsh obeyed, dolefully, yet conscientiously withal. Theresult was that when the rope was tightened--and Miss Welsh, in themost conscientious manner, drew it as tight as she possibly could--Mr.Bennett's lower portions were imprisoned in the sack in a mannerwhich was hardly dignified. He might have been about to engage in asack-race, only he did not appear to be in a sack-racing frame ofmind. Miss Welsh seemed to feel that she was hardly treating him inthe way in which one would wish to treat one's best young man. It wasevident that Mr. Bennett had not the slightest doubt but that he wasbeing used very badly indeed.
"Take the bottle and sponge, which you will find in his right-handpocket, and the revolver, which you will find in his left, and placethem on the bed." Miss Welsh did as her mistress told her. "Now tiehim up with the cord so as to render him incapable of moving a limb.There are thirty-two yards of it. With that quantity, and the exerciseof a little skill, you should be able to make him tolerably secure."
As Miss Jones said this it almost seemed that Miss Welsh started. Mr.Bennett certainly did. Miss Welsh looked at him with such piteouseyes; Mr. Bennett favoured her with an unmistakable scowl--a scowl,indeed, of singular malignity. Then she proceeded to tie him up. Indoing so she showed considerable skill and conscientiousness to boot.She first passed the rope two or three times right round him, so as topinion his arms to his sides. Then, putting her foot up against hisside, so as to enable her to use it as a lever, she hauled the rope astight as she could. She did not seem to enjoy the hauling part ofit--nor did Mr. Bennett, for the matter of that. She was a woman ofundeniable strength; it was a wonder that she did not cut in two theman she had promised to marry. When the rope was at its utmost tensionshe made a most dexterous knot. He would have been tolerably securehad she done no more. But she did a great deal more; in thatconscientious way she had she ran the rope about his legs, hauling itfast with the same ingenuity of method--with such energy, in fact,that she hauled him off his legs, and both he and she fell flat uponthe floor.
"Pick yourself up, Hannah; and you had better continue to tie Mr.Bennett where he lies--you will find it more convenient, perhaps."
Miss Welsh acted on Miss Jones's hint. But, however it may have addedto her convenience, so far as Mr. Bennett was concerned it made thematter worse. She performed her task in such a very conscientious way;she rolled him over and over, she knelt on him--to give her leveragein hauling she even stood on him--she stood him on his feet and on hishead. It certainly was _not_ a favourable example of the way in whicha young woman should use her best young man.
"Now, Hannah, you can stand Mr. Bennett on his feet," remarked MissJones, when she saw that Miss Welsh had completed her task. "If Mr.Bennett is unable to stand you had better prop him up with his backagainst the wall."
Miss Welsh propped Mr. Bennett up with his back against the wall: hewould have certainly been unable to stand alone. Miss Jones addressedherself to him:
"You see, Mr. Bennett, how entirely I have Hannah under my control.She is beautifully subjective. As I pointed out to you before, Iassure you I have obtained some really remarkable results with Hannah.I hope that you have enjoyed all that you have seen--have you?"
Mr. Bennett feebly shook his head. He did not seem to have sufficientenergy left to enable him to say he hadn't. He was too much tied up.Miss Jones went on--
"Before we part--and we are about to part, for the present, atleast--I should like to address to you a few appropriate remarks.Burglary, I need not point out to you, Mr. Bennett, is criminal, andnot only criminal, but cowardly. You select, as a rule, the night. Youchoose, preferentially, a house in which the inhabitants are helpless.You steal upon them unawares, prepared, if necessary, to take theirlives at the moment when they are least able to defend them. Youyourself are a coward of the most despicable sort, or you would neverhave come, in the dead of the night, certainly to rob, and perhaps tokill, an unprotected woman. I cannot describe to you the satisfactionwhich I feel when I consider that this is a case of the biter bit.When I think how conscious you yourself must be of how completely thetables have been turned, I assure you that I am ready to dance aboutthe room with joy. I trust, Mr. Bennett, that you will perceive andallow that these few remarks point a moral and adorn a tale. What I amnow about to do with you is this. You brought that chloroform tostupefy me. On the contrary, with it Hannah shall stupefy you. Whenyou are stupefied she will open the window, she will drag you to it,and she will drop you out. There is only a drop of about twelve feet.There is a flower-bed beneath. I hope you will not fall hard. You willdamage the flowers, I am afraid; but, under the circumstances, I willexcuse you that. Yo
u will lie there through the night. In the morningI will take care that a policeman finds you there. He will see theinscription written by yourself, and sewn on your breast by Hannah. Hewill see that you are George Bennett, the burglar, and he will act onthe hint contained in the last line--he will make further inquiries atAcacia Villa. I assure you I will answer them. I will prosecute youwith the utmost rigour of the law. You have doubtless, in the courseof your career, been guilty of multitudinous crimes. I think I know ameans of bringing every one of them home to you. You will be sentencedto a long term of penal servitude. For a considerable time to come Ishall know where to find you should I desire to subject you to furtherexperiment."
As Miss Jones made these observations, which she did in the sweetestand most musical of voices, she continued to enjoy her cigarette. Afairer picture of feminine indulgence in the nicotian weed, it is notimprobable, was never seen. But neither Mr. Bennett nor Miss Welshseemed to appreciate the opportunity they had of observing the fairpicture under circumstances of such exceptional advantage--thegentleman even less than the lady. After a short pause the beautifulyoung smoker gave a few instructions to Miss Welsh:
"Hannah, take that bottle of chloroform and that sponge. Empty thecontents of the bottle on to the sponge; then press the sponge againstMr. Bennett's mouth and nose, and hold it there."
As Miss Jones said this an expression of great agony struggled throughthe stupor which was the prevailing characteristic of Mr. Bennett'sface. It seemed as though he struggled to speak. But his tongue wasmute. Miss Welsh, too, seemed unutterably sad. At the same time shedid as her mistress bade. She drew the cork out of the bottle andemptied the contents on to the sponge. As she did so Mr. Bennett'seyes passed from Miss Welsh to Miss Jones, and from Miss Jones to MissWelsh, with something of that look of dumb agony which it is sopainful to see at times upon the face of a dog. Miss Welsh emptied thebottle to its latest drop. She advanced towards Mr. Bennett, labelled,tied, and propped up against the wall. He made a perceptible effort togive expression to his agony in speech. But Miss Welsh gave him notime. She clapped the sponge upon his mouth and nose, pressing hishead with all her force against the wall. He shivered, gave a sort ofsigh, and fell, lying where he had fallen. Under Miss Welsh's forciblemanipulation the anaesthetic had quickly done its work.
"Open the window wide!" Miss Welsh opened the window wide. "Pick Mr.Bennett up!" Miss Welsh picked him up. "Carry him to the window!" Shecarried him to the window. It was a curious spectacle to see herbearing all that was near and dear to her to his ignominious doom."Throw him out!" She threw him out. There was a momentary silence.Then came the sound of a thud. Mr. Bennett had fallen on theflower-bed beneath. "Shut the window down!" Miss Welsh shut the windowdown. "Go to the door, turn round, and look at me!" Miss Welsh did asshe was bidden. She shuddered when her eyes encountered her mistress'sglorious orbs.
The young smoker, raising her exquisitely-shaped hand, made a slightmovement with it in the air.
"Leave the room and go to bed!" she said. Miss Welsh left the room anddisappeared.
When she was left alone Miss Cecilia Jones carefully extinguished hercigarette, putting the unconsumed fragment in a little ash-tray whichwas fastened to the wall above her head. She replaced the pillows intheir former position; under one of them she placed her revolver, onit she placed her head. Touching one of the ivory buttons, which shecould easily do from where she lay, instantly the room was dark. Inthe darkness, having made herself comfortable between the sheets, sheset herself to woo sweet sleep.
Frivolities, Especially Addressed to Those Who Are Tired of Being Serious Page 6
